


the color of despair

by bi_lovely



Series: red & black [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Singing, Unrequited Love, honestly poor grantaire, i might write a fix-it sequel though :), misfortune, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 14:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10969113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bi_lovely/pseuds/bi_lovely
Summary: Grantaire stared at the windshield, at the rain battering against it. He hoped — prayed even — that the rain would stop before he worked up enough energy to actually get out of the car and walk the several blocks to his apartment building. It could at least lighten up a little bit, he thought to himself, but he knew that was too much to ask for. After all, fate was never so kind to him.





	the color of despair

**Author's Note:**

> me: *finally jumps on the bandwagon and watches glee*  
> me: i'm gonna write some klaine !!!1!  
> me: *writes angsty enjoltaire*

Grantaire couldn’t stand that song. That  _ stupid  _ song. 

 

“It’s not a song,” Enjolras would tell him. “It’s a  _ chant. _ ”

 

_ It’s a song and a fucking dumb one at that,  _ Grantaire thought bitterly. Still, it would get stuck in his head more than he’d like to admit and whenever it did he could see Enjolras, face gone bright red as a result of passion. He could see it clearly in his mind’s eye; Enjolras on top of a table belting out the lyrics along with the rest of the room. 

 

Grantaire was sat at a table in the corner, now, and the meeting was drawing to an end. He hadn’t been paying much attention that so he wasn’t entirely certain what anyone was shouting about anymore. He sighed heavily. It had been a long time since he had to admit to himself that he was only continuing to go to these things because of Enjolras, but he  _ did  _ usually pay enough attention to the topics of the evening to at least form an opinion. 

 

_ “Red, the blood of angry men!” _

 

With a groan, Grantaire laid his head down on the table. He’d had enough of this song. 

 

_ “Black, the dark of ages past!” _

 

Where had it even come from, anyway? Enjolras just started using it at the end of meetings one day. Had he found it on the internet? Was it a protest chant that he’d put to a tune? Had Enjolras actually sat down in his apartment one night and  _ written  _ a song for the purpose of — well, there really was no purpose to the song as far as Grantaire was concerned, except maybe to set his teeth on edge. 

 

_ “Red, a world about to dawn!” _

 

He wasn’t even sure why he hated the song so much. Maybe because he associated it with the idealistic way that Enjolras looked at the world. Then again, maybe it was because it got stuck in his head and made him think about Enjolras more than he already did (which was a lot). Every time it stuck itself like glue in his mind and replayed itself over and over and over again he was reminded of Enjolras again; of how Enjolras would  _ never  _ return his feelings. 

 

_ “Black, the night that ends at last!” _

 

The room erupted into cheers and people began to pour out the doors into the parking lot. 

  
Grantaire made his way to the door, head down, back hunched. He wished he could make himself invisible as he passed by Enjolras, but then, he didn’t have to do anything to make himself invisible when it came to Enjolras.

 

Once out the door, Grantaire ran to his car. The rain was coming down hard and he was soaked the moment he was outside. He got into his car, slammed the door shut, and stuck the key in the ignition. He turned it — then turned it again — then again. 

 

“ _ Fuck. _ ” He slammed his fist against the dashboard. Grantaire shook his head slowly because just no,  _ no,  _ why did this shit always have to happen to  _ him? _

 

Grantaire stared at the windshield, at the rain battering against it. He hoped —  _ prayed  _ even — that the rain would stop before he worked up enough energy to actually get out of the car and walk the several blocks to his apartment building. It could at least lighten up a little bit, he thought to himself, but he knew that was too much to ask for. After all, fate was never so kind to him. 

 

Of course… If he was willing — if he could work up the nerve — he could —

 

_ No.  _ He was  _ not  _ asking Enjolras for a ride.

 

Enjolras had become unbearable to be around as of late. It wasn’t because he was annoying — although, he  _ could  _ be  _ very  _ annoying — it was just that Grantaire had finally realized just how in love with that man he really was; it was embarrassing, actually,  _ stupid  _ even. But that’s not what made it terrible to be around him. The thing was, it finally sinking in that Enjolras tolerated him at best and that he had absolutely no shot of ever being with him. 

 

So, with a heavy sigh and a prompt middle finger at the universe, Grantaire pulled his hood over his head and threw his car door open. He stepped out into the onslaught of rain, slammed the door shut, and set off trudging through the downpour. 

 

He barely made it to the first corner before he was shivering. It felt as if the rain was going right through his clothes, his skin, down to his bones. His hands could have been frozen and he wouldn’t have known the difference. His hair was falling into his face, dripping water into his eyes that he desperately tried to wipe away so he could see where he was going. And on top of it all —  _ worst  _ of all — he had that  _ incessant  _ song bouncing around his brain. 

 

_ Red, the blood of angry men! _

 

He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans angrily. 

 

_ Black, the dark of ages past! _

 

He shook his head angrily as he turned a corner. 

 

_ Red, a world about to dawn! _

 

“Stupid, it’s a dumb, stupid song,” he said aloud to himself. 

 

_ Black, the night that ends at last! _

 

Grantaire let out an angry shout. “Stupid, stupid,  _ stupid! _ ”

 

He was breathing heavily. 

 

He turned another corner and another. 

 

His face was wet and he couldn’t tell if it was just the rain or tears, too. 

 

Another corner. 

 

He was definitely crying, he realized. 

 

“ _ Red, _ ” he said aloud because it was  _ still playing inside his head.  _ It was deafening. “ _ I feel my soul on fire. _ ”

 

He didn’t realize he was changing the lyrics until after he’d already done it and he shook his head slowly, sniffling.

 

“ _ Black, _ ” he continued slowly, “ _ my world if he’s not there. _ ”

 

Why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t he have fallen in love with someone with a little more realism in their ideas or someone who didn’t love France more than he loved any living person? 

 

“ _ Red, _ ” he sang, his voice so  _ broken,  _ “ _ the color of desire. _ ”

 

Why couldn’t he have fallen in love with someone who actually  _ cared _ about him, even in the slightest?

 

“ _ Black, the color of despair. _ ”

 

Grantaire slipped into his apartment building quietly. He tiptoed up the staircase to the first landing and went straight to the bathroom, shedding his clothes onto the floor where he left them in a messy pile and stepping into the steamy shower. 

 

He leaned against the wall; let the hot water wash over him, fill his body with warmth again. But though the feeling was rushing back to his toes, he couldn’t chase away the cold that was consuming his heart or the numb feeling that had taken over his very soul. 

 

Grantaire sighed heavily. Enjolras’ dumb song was running circles in his head, mingling with Grantaire’s own depressing lyrics, and the result could have been catastrophic but Grantaire pushed them from his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced the words as far away as he could get them to go. It wasn’t easy, but he did his best to shout over the lyrics that made him feel sick. 

 

He reached for his shampoo, focusing hard on keeping his mind elsewhere. 

  
Enjolras would never love him back. The sooner he accepted that —  _ truly  _ accepted that — the sooner he could move on with his life. Because for now, every time his head hit the pillow at night, all he could see were those eyes and all he could hear was that  _ voice.  _


End file.
